The Intended Page 23

  The earl tore his eyes away from his wife’s glowing face and looked at Mary. “Cousin,” he said seriously. “Malcolm and I, by chance, came across Jaime on our way to the stables. The offer of her accompanying us was not one that we had arranged earlier.”

  “But still, my lord...”

  “That is all there is to tell, Mary!”

  Frances’s attention snapped to her husband’s face. Surrey was not one to indulge in shows of temper—unlike Edward, whose open displays of rage were second to none. But the earl did have the uncanny ability—particularly when annoyed—to stop a talker cold with just the slightest inclination of his head and an even slighter change in his tone. Frances recognized the change and looked steadily at him. Mary, on the receiving end of the earl’s annoyance, sat a moment—her mouth opening and closing once or twice—before quietly turning her attention back to the needlework in her lap.

  Catherine’s movement toward the windows drew Frances’s gaze. The young woman was smiling, and seemed to be enjoying the efficiency with which Surrey stopped Mary’s talk. Frances watched the king’s intended as she moved away, now clearly preoccupied with her own thoughts. Frances looked around and found Surrey’s eyes once again upon her. At his silent command, she stood up, and together they moved to the far end of the chamber.

  “Jaime has to go,” he whispered. “I have no choice but to send her at once.”

  “Have you spoken with her about this, yet?”

  He shook his head. “The letter only arrived since we’ve come back from riding. I’ve had no chance.”

  Frances stared at the fine weave on her husband’s doublet. “So you haven’t spoken to Malcolm yet, either.”

  “It is not his concern.”

  “Is it not?” Frances asked softly, raising her eyes to her husband’s penetrating gaze.

  Surrey did not answer.

  “Can I talk to Jaime first?” She threw a covert glance in the direction of the two other women in the room. “Before she hears of it from them.”

  Gently, Surrey placed a hand on France’s cheek. “You are trying to buy her time, my love. But she must go when she is summoned.”

  His wife leaned her face against the palm of his hand. “You won’t force her to act against her will. This must be her decision.”

  “She is in England, my sweet. And she has placed herself under my father’s care. It is a bit late for her to have a change of heart, considering the reasons behind the duke’s summons.” The look of doubt in Frances’s face told him that she wasn’t convinced. “Just think back to when we first met. You must have had as many reservations about marrying me as Jaime has regarding Edward.”

  “More! Without question!” Frances teased.

  “I knew it!” He laughed. “But you see? The human heart can learn to love. Now honestly, don’t you agree?”

  “Let me talk to her first.” Frances turned her face and softly placed a kiss on his palm.

  “As you wish, my love.”

  “But, Surrey,” she said, smiling as she looked into his face, “Edward is nothing like you.”

  His eyes shone with his love for her, and their gazes held for a long moment. Then, as Surrey smiled, he remembered the letter in his hand.

  “Frances, one thing more,” he said, holding it out to her. “I’d like you to look at this. There is something more in it that should help convince Jaime to go. Perhaps ‘tis the reason for the summons, though I don’t...”

  As Surrey’s words trailed off, Frances reached out and took the parchment from his hands. Moving toward a window, she quickly perused the duke’s letter. But before she had gone halfway across the chamber, she turned and raised her eyes to his.

  Jaime started at his approach, questioning him with a clear note of anxiety. “How did you get in?” Malcolm backed her against the wall and stopped her question with a kiss.

  “Through the door,” he replied, drawing back only a breath. Without hesitating, his lips descended upon the soft curve of her cheek, the velvet skin of her neck.

  Jaime placed her hands against his chest and tried to push him away.

  “Malcolm, you just go out the way you came! Lady Frances is...” Her words were silenced once again by his mouth closing over hers. It took a long moment before she was able to free her lips and catch her breath. Jaime looked anxiously at the direction of the door and, seeing it was now barred, turned and unsuccessfully tried to push him toward the window. “I received a message that Frances wishes to meet with me in here, and she is bound to come in soon. You’ll have to go out by way of the terrace.”

  “In broad daylight, lass?” he crooned. “The duke’s soldiers will surely cut me down...”

  “We cannot allow her to find us here together!” she interrupted, again trying to move his giant body across the music room. But her effort was futile.

  He wrapped an arm more tightly around her waist and hugged her as he stole another kiss. “I’ve missed you, Jaime.”

  “We saw each other only an hour or so ago!” She tried to step away, but his arms were like steel around her.

  “I couldn’t stay away.”

  “You are a scoundrel, Malcolm MacLeod, but you must give in to my wishes this time,” she whispered softly against his face, and as she turned in his arms, the Highlander now reluctantly gave in, releasing her and allowing her to lead him across the chamber. “It would be a terrible end for you if Frances found us together here. I know she must already be on her way. You must go now, Malcolm!”

  Jaime pushed open the diamond-paned window. “Now go!” she commanded.

  Malcolm leaned his head out and looked up and down the stone terrace, golden in the afternoon sunlight. “Are you certain I must go this way?” he asked, looking back at her.

  She nodded. “Aye, and be quick about it!”

  “But, Jaime. Someone is sure to see me climbing the palace wall.”

  “You should have thought of that when you made your way down here, you great fool!” she scolded lightly. The knock on the door, though, made her stiffen where she stood. She hurriedly pushed him into the window frame. “Do whatever you need to do, Malcolm, but don’t let Frances find you here.”

  He placed a gentle hand against her face. “Very well, my love. Just go and unbar the door—don’t worry about me.”

  Jaime placed a quick kiss on his outstretched fingers as he slipped out the long window. Heading for the door, she straightened her skirts and ran a quick hand through her hair. Jaime lifted the bar and greeted the waiting woman standing in the wide corridor.

  “Ah, Jaime. I was unsure...well, I wasn’t even sure if you had come back from the gardens yet.”

  “I arrived back only a moment ago,” Jaime responded, pulling the door open wide and encouraging Frances to step into the room. “The servant whom you sent spoke of a matter of some urgency for this meeting. Is there something wrong, Frances?”

  Frances walked straight to the middle of the room. “I’ll tell you what I know, once...oh, I am so glad you are already here.”

  Jaime turned sharply in the direction of the countess’s gaze. Seeing Malcolm seated at her music table brought on a moment of confusion. His expression was blank, and he certainly looked as if it were perfectly natural for him to be there. He smiled at her innocently.

  “Well, I can think of no reason to wait,” Frances began. “Jaime, if you don’t mind...”

  Jaime was staring dumbly, still not fully recovered from her shock at finding him in the chamber. Suddenly aware of the countess’s eyes upon her, she shook herself out of her daze and pushed the heavy door shut. An unexpected dizziness swept over her, and she leaned her back against the door. She put a clammy hand to her forehead, and, as abruptly as it came, the unsteadiness went. He knew Frances was expecting him to be here! Her anger growing within her, Jaime gave him as withering a look as she could muster. The rogue could have told her the truth and saved her from all this unnecessary panic.

  Frances was clearly in the mo
od to waste no words. “Jaime, a messenger has arrived from court with a letter from the duke. His Grace requires your presence at Nonsuch Palace, at once.”

  Jaime paled once again as she looked in confusion at Frances. The other woman’s face betrayed no joy in conveying this news.

  “There is no reason given for this summons,” Frances continued. “Other than the fact that it is extremely urgent for you to leave immediately for court.”

  “But why? What does this mean? It cannot be, Lady Frances!” Jaime shook her head. She wouldn’t go, she thought miserably. Feeling as though a steel rod had been plunged into her heart, Jaime sought out Malcolm's face. The sudden anger in his expression had furrowed his brow into a mass of dark creases. She saw him stand from his chair and turn to the countess.

  “It is so, my sweet,” Frances went on. “And there are a thousand preparations that need to be attended to. We must think of the...”

  Malcolm’s voice interrupted her. “Hold, Lady Frances. She is no Ward of Henry’s court, nor is she the dependent of the duke of Norfolk,” Malcolm put in coldly. “She is a guest in this house. And what right does His Grace have to summon her against her will.”

  “But he does! As her true uncle...” Frances paused and looked at Malcolm’s stern expression for a moment before continuing. “Surrey is certain that you know what I must say, though we are unsure of whether Jaime is aware...well, that is why we had you sent for. She must know the truth.”

  “What truth?” Jaime cried, looking anxiously from Frances’s face to Malcolm’s. She called softly, “Malcolm!”

  Frances continued to address the Highlander. “His Grace...in his letter...”

  “Please, Frances!” Jaime demanded. “What truth? What is in the letter?”

  The countess turned. “Come,” she said quietly, come and join us.” Frances pleaded, stretching a hand toward Jaime. “I know that, between the two of us...” She glanced over at Malcolm. “Perhaps we can all understand...”

  “I’ll have no part of this, Lady Frances,” the Highlander said darkly. “No part.”

  Jaime’s knees were wobbling as she stared at the two of them, and yet she still somehow managed to take the few, short steps to a chair. She had to sit, since somehow she knew that whatever it was she was about to hear, her life would never be the same.

  Frances took a deep breath as she again glanced over at Malcolm. “Knowing how short Surrey can sometimes be, I insisted that he allow me to do this, myself. But now I find myself searching desperately for the right words.”

  “Why don’t you just get on with it,” Malcolm practically barked as he planted his hands on the table. “Speak plainly, Lady Frances, what you must, and then let her be.”

  Frances turned to Jaime. “Perhaps...perhaps this information should have come from those you know to be your parents.”

  “There was no reason for any of this to be revealed,” Malcolm interrupted again, banging his fist on the table before straightening to his full height. “Where is Surrey? No good will come out of this, I tell you. Tell me what vile purpose lies behind all this? Who chooses this path, Lady Frances? Where will it all lead?”

  Frances sank into the closest chair. “In truth, Malcolm, I cannot say what lies at the end of this.”

  “Please! The two of you!” Jaime pleaded. “You are discussing me as if I am not even here. And yet ‘tis clear that this information—this truth—may be of the utmost importance to me and my kin. Of all people, Malcolm, you of my native land...”

  Frances’s head snapped around as she stared at Jaime. The look in her face still spoke of her discomfort. But Jaime could see the resolve in her eyes.

  “Your native land is England, Jaime,” she corrected. “For you are the king’s daughter.”

  Chapter 30

  Anger tore through her like the jagged ice of the winter flood.

  “Nay!” Jaime whispered icily.

  “Your mother, Mary Boleyn, was the true niece of His Grace, the duke of Norfolk. She was also, for a short time, mistress to King Henry. Your mother stole away to a foreign land, and you were born in secrecy. Later after your mother’s death, you were raised by your aunt, Elizabeth Boleyn, and her husband Ambrose Macpherson, to the world’s eyes as their own. Tell her this is true, Malcolm.”

  “I admit to naught,” the Highlander replied, his face a steely mask. “The story I have heard is that Mary’s son died in childbirth.”

  Jaime’s mind raced as Frances stared at Malcolm. As Jaime looked at her intended, she knew that what Frances said was, of course, true—about being Mary’s daughter—and that Malcolm was simply trying to protect her.

  “Tell me what you know, Frances,” she said quietly, turning to the woman.

  “I can tell you very little more. I simply cannot understand why Elizabeth Boleyn chose to hide you...”

  Jaime watched as Malcolm’s anger suddenly boiled to the surface.

  “And this is the truth?” Malcolm cut in, looking accusingly at Frances. “Even if we allow that there is the slightest chance that what you have heard is correct, have you considered that perhaps this is not the whole truth? You talk as if Elizabeth Macpherson committed a crime in trying to keep Jaime away and safe from the English butchers. Have you considered what you would do yourself if your sisters were killed one by one at their hands?”

  Frances flushed as she searched for an answer. “Killed? But Queen Anne...well, she was guilty of...well...Anne...”

  “Aye, what of Anne?” Malcolm argued. “You see no butchery in that? What guilt lies in bearing a stillborn child? And this after giving birth to a healthy daughter! How is it that the guilt must lie with her when your king had already turned his lecherous eyes on Jane Seymour? Witchcraft? Nay...lust is what lies at the bottom of this!”

  “Nay...” Frances gasped, lifting a hand to her mouth. “You cannot say such things.”

  “You think not?” Malcolm waved aside her words. “And Anne’s sister? Why don’t you ask how Mary was killed by the blade of an English knight—before Elizabeth’s very eyes?”

  “Malcolm,” Jaime pleaded, raising a hand to him as she came to her feet. Taking a step toward him, she looked steadily into the fury ablaze in his eyes. “We have much to talk about. And you know that Lady Frances means me no harm.”

  The Highlander paused a moment as his anger subsided. He ran a hand down his face and then turned once again to the sitting woman. “Aye, as you say. But, countess, your husband and I learned from the same teacher that there is perhaps only a hair that separates Truth and Falsehood. Over the past weeks, I’ve come to know you are a woman of wisdom and fairness...as is your husband, as well. So I only ask you to consider more carefully before you so freely place blame. Whether Jaime is the daughter of Elizabeth and Ambrose Macpherson or the daughter of Suleiyman himself, I can tell you everything they’ve done for her has been done out of love for the lass.”

  “I believe you, Malcolm,” Frances said quietly.

  “Then I must apologize to you, m’lady, for speaking so strongly. I just cannot stand back and listen while folk I care about are dishonored.”

  Frances stared down in her lap for a moment before nodding in response, then came to her feet. “Jaime, I believe you and Malcolm have matters to discuss. I meant no dishonor to anyone you hold dear. As to your heritage...” A sad smile crept across the countess’s face. “True or false, His Grace believes it. And so, it seems, does Edward.”

  Jaime looked into the gray eyes of the countess as the woman reached out and touched her affectionately on the arm. The gaze was steady and true.

  “And now I’ll leave you two.” Frances turned toward the door but, remembering something, stopped. “Oh, I’ve asked Surrey to give you an extra day to prepare, so you and your escort won’t be leaving until the day after tomorrow.”

  “M’lady!” Malcolm’s sharp call brought Frances to the halt by the door. She turned and peered in his direction. His voice took on a much gentler tone. “What
you say of Jaime’s birth...where did you and others hear of this?”

  Jaime knew that Frances didn’t have to answer Malcolm’s question. So she was surprised when the other woman decided to do so.

  “I was unaware that you were truly kin of the Howards—until today,” Frances replied, turning to Jaime. “But from what my husband told me—his father the duke has been aware of it since-” she paused and stared uncomfortably at the floor.

  “Since when, Frances?” Jaime asked.

  The countess’s face could not hide her distress at what she was about to say. “Your aunt, Anne Boleyn, revealed what I’ve told you to the duke of Norfolk on the eve of her beheading. I believe she did so with the hope of having her uncle somehow use it with the king...to spare her life.”

  “But His Grace never did as she hoped, did he?” Jaime asked.

  Frances shook her head. “I don’t know. Though His Grace served as the king’s representative in her trial, he lost a great deal in the fall of Anne Boleyn. Whether the duke ever went to Henry, I cannot say. But ‘tis possible that her information was simply...”

  The countess shrugged and looked resignedly at Jaime. No words were needed. They all knew that if Henry had learned of this, Jaime would have been summoned to court long ago.

  “Anne lost her head on the block,” Frances continued. “That’s all I know!”

  Without another word, Frances left the chamber and the door closed behind her. Jaime stared in the direction of the departing woman. Suddenly, she found herself surrounded by images and voices from long ago.

  A barge rocked gently in the river current. Outside a tiny window, the green fields of France drifted lazily by. A ebony-haired woman, opening her arms with an effort, welcoming Jaime inside of the dark cabin. Her poor, sick mother, hardly ever out of the narrow bunk.

  Jaime remembered Mary, her mother, very clearly. She remembered the affection that she had bestowed on her only child in those last painful days. Jaime had been that child.

  Now, standing beside Malcolm, she wrapped her arms around herself to block the coldness that was penetrating her bones.